A Story Told by Silence
by i AM the Random Idiot
Summary: It’s an unbearable emptiness between them, a someone—shaped void around which their arms just can’t quite meet. In a way, hope kills.


**A Story Told by Silence**

It's an unbearable emptiness between them, a someone-shaped void around which their arms just can't quite meet. In a way, hope kills.

(a/n) Hi, Naruto fandom. Never thought I'd be joining you guys. Goes to show, I guess.

(disc) _Naruto_ is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, TV Tokyo, Viz, and probably like ninety other people. None of whom are me.

* * *

_"Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead."_

--

It is said that three is a magic number in many cultures.

Junior _shinobi_ are always grouped in threes. Three-man teams afford the opportunity to learn and benefit from teamwork, while maximizing the efforts of each member. True ninja have never put much stock in the phrase, "Two's company; three's a crowd."

--

A funny thing:

They had never realized the truth of that phrase until their "crowd" had been reduced to "company." It showed, though. It showed when the two walked together, spaced at an oddly far distance in unconscious remembrance of one who had once walked between. It showed in their conversation, peppered with odd hitches and lulls, as they danced around topics that brushed uncomfortably close to old times.

Mostly, it showed in the silences: the habitual pauses as if waiting for a word from the empty bench beside them, the immediate awkwardness after unthinkingly ordering one extra bowl of ramen, and the sudden heavy glances that passed between them at moments—moments in which they thought the same thing: _I wish he were here for this_.

Words mean nothing here; it is the silences that tell the story.

--

A silence:

When Naruto received a letter from his friends in Tazuna's village, exclaiming over the new trade they were conducting and the subsequent boom in their economy. The letter contained an invite to the newly annual bridge festival—"all three of you are welcome!" it said.

Naruto stuffed the letter in a drawer. He never went, and he didn't reply.

--

A silence:

A conversation with Ino. Sakura mentioned she needed to get her hair cut again. Ino asked why. She said she thought Sakura would grow it out again, to keep up with her. Sakura mildly laughed, said that hair wasn't a race. Ino remarked, without thinking, that it used to be. She realized her mistake too late. Sakura didn't reply, but got up and excused herself, so as to avoid any further awkwardness.

Sakura knew by then that it was never about the hair at all.

It was never even about her.

--

A funny thing:

In a way, his absence had a presence of its own. It was a hush made audible, a vacuum made tangible, a nonbeing itself made altogether too noticeable. The gaps in their lives where he used to be remained empty and untouched, tiptoed around like chalk outlines at a murder scene.

In a way, it would have been better if he _had_ died. There would have been grief, and mourning, and hurt in great measure, yes—but the spaces left could be filled with new memories, and the wounds could be stitched closed and left to heal.

These wounds remained gaping, bleeding, and vulnerable to infection.

Because, they told themselves, he could come back at any time.

In a way, hope kills.

--

A silence:

Sakura, sitting under the stars. She wondered whether she believed in love anymore.

She wondered if she knew what love was anymore.

She wondered if she could ever love again.

Sakura didn't know that she already knew the answer.

--

A silence:

Naruto, drowning in a sea of red. Sinking, he remembered his promise—the only one he hadn't kept. He wondered for whose sake he had truly made it.

In an uncharacteristic moment of bitterness, he wondered if Sasuke would have made the same promise if their roles were reversed. He wondered, more sadly, if Sakura would have asked it of him in the first place.

The fox made a snide comment, and Naruto told him to mind his own goddamn freaking business.

--

A silence:

Under the moon.

She asked if he had ever regretted loving someone. He said it would depend. Before he could think better of it, the burning question spilled from his mouth.

She thought about it. No, she said. If it was him, she wouldn't have asked anyone to go after him. She wouldn't have let them. She would have gone herself.

Then no, he said. No regrets.

--

A silence, immediately thereafter:

A tear, on her cheek.

He saw it. He could have brushed it away.

But he couldn't, just couldn't reach across that void.

She could have asked him to.

But she couldn't, just couldn't break that silence.

And the fissure, so close to closing, yawned open again.

--

A funny thing:

It's not funny. Not at all.

--

A silence:

Remaining.

**.owari.**


End file.
